


let me help?

by keyungso



Series: hold me tight, will you? [1]
Category: TharnType the Series (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, TharnType, possibleextrachapter, softtharn!, tharntypebeinggay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyungso/pseuds/keyungso
Summary: tharn’s working late and he finds type running from a bunch of bad guys so he takes him in and takes care of him au!
Relationships: Tharn Kirigun/Type (TharnType)
Series: hold me tight, will you? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704826
Comments: 34
Kudos: 337





	let me help?

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i’ve worked on this for a couple of weeks because i love me some softtharn and tsunderetype au! please enjoy it!💖

It’s almost midnight and Tharn’s nowhere near in finishing his assignment. 

Maybe it’s partly his fault for not taking a head start a month ago but he didn’t expect it to be this hard. Besides, his band just got noticed by one of the big bars downtown so he’d spent his time drumming. Yet, this grade is going to be almost half on his entire grade, so Tharn has to suck it up and finish it.

Sighing for the millionth time today, he pushes himself away from the table, squeezing his eyes shut temporarily to shut off the migraine in his head. His ass is numb from sitting on the chair for to long and his fingers feel like they’re about to melt off.

He glances longingly to the bed behind him, who’s waiting for him patiently.

Maybe some food will wake me up or something, he thinks, standing up for the first time in a couple of hours and making his way to the kitchen.

The other places in the flat are dark, and quiet. He’s been living alone for a year now and it’s quite nice. The dorm back in the university is small and the walls are paper thin; he’s always getting an earful of his neighbors’ conversation which distracts him from his tasks.

He opens the fridge door, squinting in the bright light. There’s leftover pizza from yesterday and an apple. He takes the apple.

Tharn checks again, whilst taking a bite of the apple. There’s a carton of milkon the side which is probably almost empty and a bottle of orange juice. He glances at the clock. It reads 23:03.

His stomach is growling, he realizes. Maybe he could order takeaway? Do restaurants open 24/7?

He’s about to take another bite of the apple when he hears something from outside. It sounds like a crash. Tharn frowns, stopping to listen. Nothing. He continues to take another bite from the apple and makes his way back to his room. He’s right across his front door when he hears it again.

Feeling curious, he places his ear against the door, wanting to find out what’s going on. Still Nothing.

Tharn huffs. He’s not going to be able to finish his work with a rat playing around his trashcan.

He opens the door and steps outside. Crickets chirping greets him and the moon shines brightly in the sky. Tharn looks left and right to the empty hallway. None of his neighbors are out and his trashcan is rat free.

Maybe he needs to call it a day and just sleep, he says to himself. Licking his dry lips due to the cold air, he turns around and is about to get back inside when from his right side, comes a person running straight to him.

“What the f-“

The strangers’ on the ground, rubbing his head. Then he looks up at him and Tharn’s eyes go wide. One, because he’s cute. And two, because why the fuck is he running at 11 pm?

Tharn’s gaze shifts ahead when he hears more scattering and voices.

“Shit,” the boy stands up, frantically looking behind him and then back to Tharn, like he’s in debate with himself. “They’re going to get me.”

The voices are getting louder and nearer. Tharn makes out a few threatening words from it. It’s clear they’re searching for the boy in front of him and from how angry they sound, it’s very unlikelythe boy is going out of it in one piece.

Before he thinks and regrets his decision, he takes the boy’s hand and drags him inside his flat. It all happens so fast that the next second, he has the boy against the door in front of him as his hand goes to softly lock the door.

The boy doesn’t seem to expect that, because his glare deepens and he opens his mouth to curse him off. But Tharn’s fast as well and he smoothly covers his mouth with his hand, eyes trying to hint the boy to shut the fuck up.

They stay like that, in total silence as the voices and running appears right in front of them. Tharn tries not to falter at the harsh glare the boy is giving him.

“Where the fuck did he go?”

“I swear I saw him go this way!”

“Are you sure? Maybe he went up again.”

“What about inside? Maybe he went into one of the rooms?”

“Don’t be stupid. This place is full of university kids. They’re probably asleep already.”

“So what now?”

A sigh.

“Let’s do another quick check around then we’ll go. Tomorrow we search for him again and make him pay.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted of his shoulders when the footsteps go farther until it’s back to silence. Hesitantly, he takes his hand off of the boy’s face. He steps back when the boy pushes him off and wipes his mouth with the back of his arm.

“You’re welcome,” Tharn says sarcastically.

“Didn’t ask for your help,” the boy replies. Now with the light, Tharn can make out the boy’s features clearer. He’s a similar height as him, with messy dark hair and dark eyes. He notice the bright red marks on the boy’s body. His white shirt is stained crimson in some small parts and there’s a big gash on the left side of his lower lip. Tharn winces. He doesn’t even look a day over 20 so what the fuck has he been into?

“You were literally panicking outside.”

“No I wasn’t.”

When he turns around and reaches for the key, Tharn stops him.

“What?” The boy asks him, looking at him in annoyance even though Tharn literally just saved his life.

“What are you doing?” Tharn hisses, slapping his hand away.

“Getting out of here.”

“Didn’t you hear what they said? They’re doing a run check on this place! If You go out there right now, they’ll find you.”

“I’m not fucking staying with you.”

Tharn mouth drops. “Well, sorry that I thought it was a nice thing to save your delinquent ass from a bunch of gangsters.”

The boy glares at him more, but he’s turned around from the door, realizing he’s stuck here for a while.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “Thanks for saving me.”

Tharn looks at him, not knowing what to say. “Um, no- no problem.”

The boy nods, eyes darting to anywhere but him. He takes step forward but hisses, stopping as he falters. Tharn’s gaze drops down to his leg, which is covered by his hand.

“Are you okay?”

The hand slowly moves away, revealing a hole in his pants, showing a deep gash.

“Shit,” Tharn runs a hand through his hair. “Dude, what the fuck happened to you? You know what- don’t tell me. I’m going to get first aid. Hold- Hold on for a second.”

The fatigue he felt is gone as he goes through his boxes of storage. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s used the first aid kit. He doesn’t even remember the last time he’s had anyone over. Well, Khlui came over to get his books a week ago but that doesn’t really count.

He takes the first aid box and takes a stop in the kitchen, taking a clean rag and wetting it with warm water before hurrying back to the boy, who’s still standing there awkwardly and frowning, like he doesn’t understand why he’s here.

Tharn sits on the couch and places the box and the rag on the coffee table in front of him, opening it and taking clean wipes from inside. He glances to the boy.

“Are you going to come here?”

The boy makes a face but he complies, slowly limping towards him and sitting down. He’s so tense, Tharn notes, it’s like he’s never had any human contact before.

Tharn hesitantly takes his leg and pulls it onto the couch, eyes watching the boy’s face just in case he turns ballistic suddenly and hits him. But he stays silent and pliant.

He gently moves away the hand, breath getting caught in the throat when he sees how bad it is.It’s the size of a finger, right between his calf and thigh. Now unconstrained by the pressure from the hand, blood runs freely from the wound, dripping down his leg. But Tharn catches it with the towel, the white color immediately turning warm in contact.

The boy must have been surprised by the contact because he flinches visibly, as the muscles of his leg tenses and the torn skin on the wound part even further.

“Sorry,” Tharn mutters.

“It’s fine.”

He softly cleans it, careful not to dab to hard on the gash. When he’s satisfied and when the bleeding has minimizes enough, he puts the dirty rag on the table and takes a small bottle antiseptic solution.

“This is going to sting a little bit,” he warns the boy while opening the cap and placing a few drops on some cotton swabs.

The boy nods in reply and Tharn takes this as a confirmation to press it softly against his skin.

“ _Fuck_ -“ the boy hisses, hand instinctively reaching out to grab Tharn’s.

“Sorry,” Tharn says, but he doesn’t move his hand away. “It’s supposed to hurt.”

“It stings.”

“That means it’s working.”

Tharn swallows, lifting it slightly before dabbing again. The hand on his doesn’t budge but Tharn doesn’t say anything about it.

The boy’s tanned thigh turns slightly yellow in color due to the mixture and when it’s covered enough, Tharn pulls his hand back to put away the wet cotton. The hand holding him moves away as quickly, and Tharn glances at the boy, who’s awkwardly playing with his thumbs.

“Mind telling me your name?” He asks as he takes a roll of bandages.

“Type.”

Tharn nods, too busy circling the bandage around his thigh to notice the hard stare Type is giving him. The bandage colors slightly due to the wound.

When’s he’s done, he rips it with his hands and ties it.

“All done,” he says softly, looking up to Type. “What?”

“What’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your name.”

Tharn blinks. “Oh. Um, Tharn.”

Type nods, slowly moving his leg and checking it out. He moves it off the couch before meeting Tharn’s gaze again. “Why are you helping me, Tharn?”

“What?”

Type rolls his eyes, not meeting his gaze. “You could’ve just left me outside. Why’d you drag me in here?”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

Now he’s looking at him, eyes looking straight at his. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Tharn shrugs. Honestly he doesn’t know why he did it himself. He doesn’t know Type. Doesn’t know where he came from and what problems he might bring to him. But Tharn knows Type’s grateful, even though he’s trying hard to make it seem like he’s not. Besides, if he were in Type’s place, he would hope someone would do the same to him.

“I just did what I hope people would do if I were in your place.”

Type looks at him through his lashes. Tharn notices the notable black-eye and the small cut on his lip.

He takes the rag again and moves closer, sighing when Type leans away. “Calm down. I’m just going to clean the rest of your cuts.”

He continues what he’s doing when Type relaxes. He places ointment around his eye and lips. Both of them are quiet and Tharn feels on urge to get closer but he ignores it. This feels way intimate than treating the leg. Maybe because they’re closer. Maybe because his other free hand is on Type’s thigh- he doesn’t even know how it got there. It’s warm and soft and Tharn’s heart is beating super fast.

He’s trying not to notice the way Type’s looking him.

“Why were they looking for you?”

Type shrugs.

Tharn doesn’t push it. He moves the rag down to his neck, wiping away the dried blood and few tiny cuts here and there. Most of them are dried and small that he doesn’t think it’s necessary to bandage it all. He just places ointment above it.

“Stole their bike by accident.”

“How do you steal something by accident?”

“The stealing wasn’t the accident. Taking their bike is the accident.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Tharn takes Type’s hands and turns it around to check for any more cuts. His hand looks so small in his, it’s kind of crazy to think how many people have this guy has beaten up.

“Did you give it back though?” He asks while he’s treating the arms.

“No.”

“Is that why they’re chasing you?”

Type nods. “Probably. I may have also broken both of their leader’s arms.”

Tharn’s eyes go even wider. Wow. Okay. Totally not surprising. He moves to the other arm. “Anything else?”

“Stabbed two of this men.”

“Oh. _Wow_ ,” Tharn whistles, “Are they- Are they..”

“Dead?”

He nods. “Probably.”

Silence falls onto them as Tharn lets himself process what he just heard. He’s always been a fan of action and thriller movies so death isn’t something unfamiliar. But hearing it in real life, especially as Type doesn’t feel as freaked out about as him, it’s kind of a bit...overwhelming.

“Thank you, by the way,” he hears Type say. Tharn stares at him. He notices the way Type’s eyes linger on his lips before sliding away. Glancing down, he realizes he’s still holding Type’s hands in his, brushing his fingers against them.

“You can-“ he lets go of the hands, ignoring the feeling of loss from doing so. “You can stay here, you know.”

Darks eyes meet his. Tharn expects a harsh reject but the boy simply looks at him in surprise.

“They’re probably still around the area,” Tharn finds himself explaining, “And you’re hurt. It’s better for you to rest first.” And maybe I don’t really want to see you go yet.

Type’s eyes search for his, emotions unreadable. Tharn’s afraid he might have gone too far. Khlui always says he has a problem in giving to others. But there’s something about Type that just makes him want to give his all. His everything.

“Okay.”

Tharn lets out a breath he doesn’t even know he’s holding. “Okay. I’ll- I’ll get more pillows.”

He’s arranging the bed, putting Type’s pillows on one side and pushing all of his on the other, when Type goes in the room.

“I’m sleeping on your bed?”

Tharn turns around, licking his lips. “Uh- yeah. I figured it’ll be more comfortable for your leg?”

The boy doesn’t reply. Just nods.

“Do you want to wash up? Or change your clothes?”

“Can I?”

“Yeah- yeah. Of course. I’ll get you some-“ Tharn moves towards his cabinet and picking out a random white t-shirt and shorts before handing it to Type. “Here. You can use these.”

Type nods again, hands hesitantly taking the soft material.

“The bathroom’s over there. Soap and shampoo are all labeled. I have a spare toothbrush under the sink.”

As Type’s busy in the bathroom, Tharn goes back to his study table and continue on his work. He’s almost done, just needs a couple more of research. It’s due at the end of the week, he’ll probably be able to finish it with another sleepless night.

He checks the time. It’s past 12 already.

Tharn closes his laptop. He’s too exhausted to continue. Besides, his mind keeps sliding back to the boy in the bathroom. Where did he come from? Where are his parents? Does he even go to university?

Millions of questions run through his head but he doesn’t dare ask. From his experience of watching action movies, it’s always a bad idea to ask people about their past.

He stands up, realizing the silence. Has Type finished changing?

The room is still empty and the clothes he gave to Type is on the bed. He takes it and makes his way to the bathroom. Type must’ve forgotten it.

The door is unlocked, he comes to realize as he turns the knob and peeks inside.

“Type?”

He hears no answer. It’s like his heart has stopped as he imagines for the worst. Did Type climb out the window? He scans the toilet, the sink, and finally the tub.

He steps forward, yanking the shower curtain and-

His heart melts. He stops, breath stopping in his throat from the scene in front of him.

Type’s in the tub, water filled until it almost reaches the brim. His head is leaning against the wall, eyes closed and breathing slow. The water’s soapy and slightly red from Type’s wounds.

Tharn sighs.

Of course the boy had jumped inside the bathtub with his bandages and newly treated wounds. Why isn’t he surprised?

“Type,” he calls out. But the boy remains asleep.

Tharn doesn’t try again. Type’s probably too exhausted from running from the gangsters and getting beaten up whole day. Plus, he looks even cuter in his sleep.

The frown that’s always on his face is gone, making him look younger, childlike even.

He’s so pretty, Tharn thinks. His hand reaches out, fingers closing into Type. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or what he’s trying to touch. Why is he like this? Why is he acting this way to a stranger?

“Tharn?”

He jumps back, almost tripping himself as he looks at Type, who’s fluttering his eyes awake, pushing himself off the wall. Tharn watches, throat dry, as the boy looks down at himself.

“Shit. Forgot I had these on.”

He looks at Tharn apologetically.

“Um- It’s fine. We can redo them.”

Type nods. Tharn watches as he uses his hands to hold to tub edges and try to pull himself up, but he slips and falls back down and Tharn tries not to think about the way he immediately reach out to the boy, water splashing around and dripping down to the floor.

“Ah fuck,” Type sighs, “I can’t get up.”

Tharn huffs out a laugh. “Hold on. Let me help.”

The towels in the cabinet above the toilet, so he takes one and covers Type with it. Then he slips his hands under his arms.

“Um-“ Type silently wraps his arms around Tharn’s neck. “Yeah. Okay.”

He can feel Type’s breath against his neck and the heat he’s giving off. Is he just abnormally warm or does he have a fever?

He pulls him up, smiling when Type mutters a string of fuck fuck fuck don’t fucking drop me. He doesn’t set him down on the floor, instead he carries both of them into the bedroom, placing Type on the bed.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Type muses.

“I’m probably stronger than you.”

Type grins, “Keep dreaming.” And Tharn laughs. Then his gaze drops and he realizes how normal this all feels. Cleaning Type. Carrying him onto the bed. Teasing him. Why does it feel normal?

“What?” Type breaks him away from his thoughts. Tharn now notices how intimate their position is. Type’s sprawled on the bed, with nothing but a small towel across his waist, holding himself up with the back of his arms as he looks up towards Tharn, who’s standing against the bed, leaning forward. “Why are you looking at me all weird?”

Tharn sucks in a breath and stands up abruptly, face suddenly warming extremely fast. He runs his shaking hand through his hair, trying not to notice how good the small water droplets look falling lightly against his tanned skin. “Sorry. It’s nothing. I’m going to-“ he steps back, throat feeling dry, “get more betadine.”

He’s super crazy, he thinks as he’s outside, leaning against the bedroom door with a hand on his forehead. There’s a super cute stranger on his bed that’s probably killed more people than he can count and Tharn is getting a major boner for him.

Jesus. Calm yourself down.

He goes back into the room with more bandages and the ointment. Type’s already curled in his bed, still mostly naked. He’s closing his eyes, probably asleep again.

“Stop looking at me,” Type mumbles without blinking awake and Tharn flushes. He takes a seat on the edge with Type’s clothes in his hands.

“You’re not gonna change into these?”

Type peaks open an eye, looking at him from the side. Tharn feels his heart skip a beat when the boy smiles, and brings his hand up to lean the back against his forehead.

“Can you dress me?”

“Um-“ Tharn chokes on his spit, “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m kidding,” Type says, sitting up and taking the shirt and throwing it over his head. Tharn tries not to stare.

“Do you always do this?”

Tharn flickers his gaze back towards him. “Do what?”

“Help people.” _Fuck_ , Type looks even more attractive with his slightly oversized t-shirt.

“No.” Tharn hands him the shorts.

“I’m a special case?”

“I don’t really get run into by delinquents at 11 pm at night, so you could say that.”

Type shrugs and he falls back against the bed. Tharn takes the ointment bottle and reapply them onto the cuts. Then he unbinds the wet bandages and replaces them with new ones. He does all of this while Type stays silent and closed eyed.

When he’s done, he throws away the waste and goes to shut the lights off before joining him, leaving the room illuminated by nothing but the moonlight. He pulls the covers above both of them, making sure Type gets enough.

It’s weird. Having another person sleeping beside him. He’s never had anyone on his bed before. It’s weirdly warmer.

He’s facing Type’s back, watching as it rises and falls slowly. Sleep comes easily. It only takes a few minutes until Tharn feels himself dozing off.

Tharn’s nearly unconscious when he feels Type shift beside him. He cracks an eye half open and meets Type’s gaze. Type’s turned to face him, watching him with intent. And before Tharn can open his mouth to ask him what’s wrong, Type’s pressing their lips together in a bare breath of a kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before he pulls away and shifts back around, though this time he’s closer so that they’re right beside each other, leaving Tharn with warm cheeks and a pounding heart.

It must be his fatigue because Tharn quietly slips an arm around Type, pulling him even closer and he falls asleep feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of Type.

The morning comes abruptly and quickly. It feels like he just closed his eyes.

His alarm is ringing loudly and he tries lifting his left hand to shut it off but it doesn’t budge. He frowns, turning his head to the side and meeting Type’s face.

Tharn freezes and he gulps down slowly.

So apparently during the night, both of them shifted around on the bed and Type has settled on Tharn’s left hand, snuggled close. They’re facing each other, legs tangled up.

“Shut the fucking alarm,” Type mumbles sleepily, his frown back into place as he turns around and tugs the blankets over his head but never moving away from Tharn’s arm.

Tharn blinks. Then he uses his right arm to shut it. He lays there, deciding whether he should pull his arm away or just let Type be.

Does he have a class today? Probably.

“I’m honestly surprised you’re still here,” he says, looking at the ceiling.

“What do you mean?” Type mumbles sleepily.

“Thought you would’ve left. Since you’re like a vigilante or something.”

“I am not a vigilante or something.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Tharn glances to his side. “Do you go to university?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” He’s not surprised when Type stays quiet after that, but suddenly the boy turns around so that he’s facing Tharn, eyes looking upto meet his gaze.

“I do. But it’s complicated.”

“Why is that?” Tharn asks, his voice going soft. His head is turned completely to the side by now. His heart’s pounding extremely fast, with how close Type is.

“It’s hard for me to,” Type stops, thinking of the right word to say, “to interact with others.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to deal with them. S’like they’re trying to make me beat them up.”

“You’re doing fine with me.”

“That’s because you’re different,” Type responds almost immediately. His tone is low and soft at the same time and Tharn feels the entire world stopping and set in slow motion as his gaze drops heavily onto Type’s lips, so pink and so full, like its waiting for him to take it in his own.

He feels Type leans in slowly and like a magnetic pull, he feels himself leaning forward as well, his eyes fluttering shut and heart halting-

Type sits up suddenly, a hand running through his hair and Tharn jerks back, eyes opening wide. His throat feels dry and his cheeks are warm.

“I’m- do you have water? I’m getting some.”

Then Type hurries out the door without another glance, leaving Tharn alone on the bed with a numb left hand, a thumping heart and a bizarre raging hard on.

After a long cold shower, Tharn’s dressed in a simple black sweater, sleeves pulled in to his forearms and showing his noticeable muscle and matching black pants to go with.

He leaves his bedroom, about to face Type after whatever happened inside.

But the living room is empty.

He checks the kitchen, the unidentifiable discomfort he feels in his gut grows with each step. It’s empty.

“Ai’Type?” He calls out, voice shaking a little. Did he-

He goes- _no_ , he runs outside, slamming the door open and looking right and left, only to see his neighbor, a 60 year old grandma watering her plants looking at him with surprise.

“S-sorry,” Tharn bows and then he goes back in.

He closes the door, feeling empty.

Tharn sighs loudly, looking up to the ceiling. He feels his eyes water. Fuck, what is he doing? He’s met the guy for a night and he’s crying that he left? Grow the fuck up, Tharn. Stop pushing yourself to heartbreaks.

He pushes himself off the door, taking his laptop and bag and leaves for his study.

Type

He’s running.

It’s still bright and there’s car and people around him, people doing their everyday lives and he feels like he’s just there, unmoving even though he’s fucking running like there’s no tomorrow, running to god know’s where.

He wonders if Tharn has left for his university and almost slaps himself for it.

He’s the one running away from him and now he’s thinking about what he’s doing?

Honestly, Type doesn’t know why he ran in the first place. Tharn’s a nice guy and his apartment is way nicer than his. He wouldn’t have mind if Type hangs around there and waits for him to get home.

Which is probably what freaked him out in the first place.

The fact that he’s thought about him, wearing Tharn’s clothes that is barely his size, waiting diligently for Tharn to come back and cook his dinner and bath him and carry him on the bed again. It frightens Type.

He’s never the one for relationship. The last time he’s got close to a man, he was raped. He’s over it- mostly, and has slept with a couple of people, both girls and boys. But that’s it. He’s never stayed afterwards. Never talked to any of them.

He thought Tharn would be the same. He’s had people that come up to him, telling him they can ‘fix’ him or that they feel the same way. But Type’s always pushes them aside.

But he couldn’t do it with Tharn.

In fact, he likes what Tharn did. He enjoys the soft touches and looks Tharn gives him. How gentle he was in tending his wounds. He enjoys talking to him, like words just naturally come out. And sleeping next to him felt strangely comforting. Type’s always have trouble sleeping, with his past trauma and all. But he didn’t dream anything last night.

Maybe that’s why he’s so scared.

He’s getting so attached to Tharn in so little time; what if Tharn doesn’t feel the same way? Depending on someone petrifies him. What if Tharn leaves him someday, like how his old friends did when they found out he was raped? Like everyone else who sees past beneath his cold exterior?

So Type ran.

Because to him, It’s better to leave first before getting hurt.

“Hey sir, why are you running?”

Type blinks, sweat dripping from his forehead to the ground, making tiny spots darker on the grey asphalt. He glances to his side, meeting the gaze of a little boy. He’s as short as his chest, using a light blue hoodie with dinosaur printings on it.

“Are you late to somewhere?”

Type sighs. “No.”

“Then why are you running?”

“It’s-“ he swallows, “Just wanted to.”

“Are you scared of something?”

“ _Wha_ -“

“Maybe you’re running away from something. That’s why you’re running.”

“Maybe, yeah.”

“Why?” Type looks at him like he’s crazy. Why he’s running away from something?

“I don’t know,” he says, “things are scary sometimes, kid. And you just have to run from it.”

The kid looks at him back, with those wide, circle blue eyes.

“Have you tried turning back before?”

Type’s brow twitches. “The _fuck_ \- why would I turn back?”

“If you’ve never tried turning back, how do you know it’s so scary?”

He raises his fist, ready to smack the shit out of him when the kid’s pulled aside and Type halts.

“Excuse _me_ , what are you doing with my child?” A woman sneers, blonde and with the same striking blue eyes as the kid. She’s pulled him behind her, arms crosses against her chest as she glares at Type.

“He fucking started it!”

“You better walk away, young man, before I call the cops on you.”

Type glares, shooting the finger to both of them and sticking his tongue out before leaving.

When he hears the boy calling out, “Walk towards it, you pussy!” he throws his hand against one of the walls in rage, shouting a curse.

Fuck _off_. Fuck everything. Fuck everyone. _Fuck Tharn_. He’s doing fine on his own. He’s always been and always will.

Okay. He’s not doing fine.

He’s never done fine, honestly so this isn’t really surprising.

“Type,” the dean says, neatly taking off her thin rimmed glasses and folding it and placing on the table. “Do you know why I called you here?”

Type’s in her room, sitting across from her on those fancy, cushioned red chairs. The room is cold, vast difference from the outside. Everything is either white or red, following the school’s color code.

“Not really, no.”

“Tell me, Type, how many kids have you given a black eye just this week?”

Type stays silent.

“Type when a dean asks you a ques-“

“Fuck, I don’t know. Five? Six?”

“Eleven, Type.”

Type doesn’t say anything. He’s glaring. Fuming on the inside. It’s not his fault they’re all ganging up against him like dogs on a cat. It’s not his fault he decided to scratch them.

The dean sighs, pulling her lips in. “Type, you’re a bright kid. I know you are. But if you keep this up, you’re going to get expelled.”

“Is that it?”

The dean frowns, “Do you want more?”

Type huffs out, crossing his arms.

Maybe he has a little anger problems, he thinks. It’s never been that bad before. He’s always been able on keeping his cool and letting his anger out outside of university.

Tharn’s soft features crosses his mind.

It’s him. It’s got to be him. Type’s been super cranky after he left the goddamn guy.

Fuck, he drops down, squatting down with his head on his shoulders.

“There! That’s the fucker!”

He lifts his head, turning towards the sound. A familiar guy meets his gaze and Type’s still trying to figure out why he’s so familiar when he gives him an evil grin, sending him a small wave. Behind him comes a group of men and Type’s heart stop.

His gaze slides to the men, particularly to the bulky, tall on in the middle, wearing a tight black tank top with a skull in the middle. His pants are black, ripped in some places that do not look intentionally ripped. In his hand holds a small knife, glittering and shining as the setting sun hits it.

He smiles, his teeth unnaturally sharp and yellow.

“There you are, you little fucker.”

Type sighs for the thousandth time today. Ah fuck.

Type reels back as he feels the breath being knocked up from his body. His right hand instinctively reached up to to his face and he grimaces when he feels blood drop on his hand and slip to the ground.

He’s really stupid to think he’s able to take on all of these men, who probably fight everyday like a job. He really should have hid in the trashcan when he had the chance to. His ego got the best of him. Took down a few of the men but it’s clearly not enough. He’s clearly not enough. And now, he’s being beaten up by a bunch of smelly, old men in front of some forgotten alleyway.

“How’s it feel, fucker?” The man sneers, landing another punch on his stomach and Type falls back, holding the urge to throw up. Fuck. It’s not going so well. “You enjoy breaking my arms last time? Cause I’m going to break yours. I’d love that. Break those pretty little things.”

“Fuck off,” Type mumbles out, struggling to stand up.

“What’d you say? Dron, hold him back so I can fucking punch him again!”

Type hears a cackle, and his arms being restrained, then there’s a flash of pain on his eye. The man stands above me, panting and his hand curled into a fist.

His vision on the eye blurs, and he realizes it’s water. He’s crying. But he doesn’t feel like he’s crying. More droplets appear on the ground.

“Look at that. He’s crying. You ain’t so tough, huh? You already have a couple of bruises with you, in it? A bad boy in school aren’t ya?”

“He is, boss. He really is crying like a baby.”

“Get me my knife, will you? He fuckin stabbed Ross and Drew. Wanna give him a bit revenge.”

“You sure, boss? We gon get in big trouble if the police finds out.”

“Get me fucking knife before I kill you!”

Type sees a flash of light in the man’s hand as the moonlight hits it. The blade’s slightly rusty but the man doesn’t seem to care much, inching closer, a smile of his dirty features. Type can already see himself in a pool of blood through his eyes.

“Get the _fuck_ away from me.”

“Hold him, Dron.”

Type screams when he feels it, cold iron slipping through his skin and he thrashes, kicking and punching with all his energy left but it’s not use, three’s holding both his arms and the man’s smiling to him again, grinning and suddenly, he’s being pulled back, pulled back to the memory he’s always tries to forget.

Everything seems so familiar. Like a feeling of de ja vu.

In the abandoned locker room, away from everyone else. As his legs were torn open and all his screams fall into deaf ears. He was alone and he is alone.

“Don’t worry,” he hears a faint voice saying, “it won’t hurt even the slightest.”

Type screams, “No!” And everything goes back and he’s back. He’s breathing heavily and sees the man on the ground with a surprised and irritated look. He’s kicked him off, he realizes.

He doesn’t wait for the guy to stand, pushing himself off the ground and flipping on the air, pulling his arms successfully out of the grips. The men turn towards him and he lands a punch on one and a kick to another.

It’s not much but it pushes them away enough for Type to make a run for it.

He hears the man screams and shouts all the curse words he recognizes but he doesn’t pay it mind. His only goal is to hide away.

His weight is heavy. He can barely hear, barely see. There’s a small dark opening on the side and he slips inside, holding his breath as the men runs past him and into the night.

The feeling of fatigue finally dawns on him and he drops down, back against the wall. His hand is holding his stomach and he slowly pulls it away, revealing crimson liquid pooling out.

Something hits him on the head, like a sharp tap and he realizes it’s started to rain. Droplets cover him like a blanket made out of nails in the night. He feels his heartbeat, strong and quick. His eyes feel heavy, threatening to fall every second. And with a final relief of breath, his head drops to his side as he lets sleep take him over.

Tharn

It’s raining like crazy, outside. He’s just finished his class. He’s barely made in to the entrance of his dormitory when the rain falls.

He quickly unlocks his door, wanting no more but to fall on his bed and sleep until the next day. But he can’t. He has the dishes to do, which he thinks he can do the next day but that’s what he said last night so he really has to stop this cycle.

Shower. He thinks.

It’ll freshen him up a bit he guesses?

His bag is placed on the couch and he makes his way to his bedroom, taking a towel on the way and locks himself in the shower.

The warm water hits his face and he closes his eyes, feeling the water flow against his chest and drip down against the floor.

Type.

It feels like it’s only yesterday that he’s with him. In his bedroom. Snuggled under his blanket. It’s been a week, Tharn thinks. More than a week.

He’s hasn’t purposely tried looking for him. But whenever he’s walking from to his university or to his dorm, he’s always trying to meet the same strong gaze.

He turns the shower off and dries himself with the towel. As he wraps his around his waist, he makes his way outside, taking his favorite blue t-shirt and grey boxers.

Should he eat? He thinks as he applies his moisturizer onto his face. He ate lunch in university, though he likes to get hungry in the middle of the night. He’s stopped from his thoughts of making grilled cheese when he hears a noise from outside.

Tilting his head, he listens.

It’s his front door.

“Who is it?” He calls out, closing the moisturizer cap and walking to the door, while his hands busy drying hair with the towel. “Khlui, I told you I don’t have your math textbook. You probably left it in Seo’s room you i-“

In one shattered moment his heart and breathing stop, just stop.

Type is standing before him, drenched in the rain. His hair is flat against his face and his shirt is stained crimson and sticking to his body. Already his eyes are swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his jaw. His arms are wrapped round his guts like he's holding them in and to be honest he's beat so bad he could be.

His eyes are gazing towards Tharn and as if smacked out of his dazed, Tharn realizes the still pouring rain outside.

“Type- fuck, why are you still outside? Get in.”

Type steps inside and Tharn has to keep his eyes on him when he locks the door, scared that he’ll collapse or something. He looks like a bloody mess, so fragile and small.

And he does. He does collapse. Tharn bolts to him and catches him in his arms.

“Ai- _shit_ , Type. Who did this to you?”

“Hurts,” Type mumbles against his neck.

“You’re hurt?” Obviously? “Where?”

Type lowers his head and Tharn follows, looking at his hand across his stomach. When he slowly revealed what’s underneath, Tharn’s heart falls right on the ground as he sees the deep gash across his stomach.

“Come on,” Tharn pulls his closer, “Let’s get you on the sofa.”

He’s probably too hurt to fight him because he simply lets Tharn carry him. Softly, Tharn places him down.

“Tha..” Type tries to say his name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable, but he doesn't need to because Tharn’s already on his knees, hands delicately caressing his cheek.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he says, “I’m just going to get bandages and some towels okay? I’ll be right back.”

His hands are shaking as he grabs what he used on the previous night. What the fuck happened to him? And why did he show up outside Tharn’s dorm?

It doesn’t take him less than a minute to be right back beside Type. The boy has his eyes closed and Tharn grimaces in the darkening color around it, signaling a big bruise.

He covers the boy with a big towel so that he doesn’t get sick and cleans him with a clean, wet rag, making sure he gets all the blood off him. He does it especially carefully around the gash area on the stomach. There’s another nasty cut on his leg and behind his left arm.

Type flinches when he accident grazes it against the open wound but he stays closed eyed.

“I’m going to put the ointment now,” Tharn warns him beforehand.

“Hurts,” Type mumbles.

“I know it hurts. But I have to put it to prevent you from getting infections.”

Type opens his eyes slowly, looking up at Tharn under his eyelashes.

“Can I hold your hand?”

And he says it in the softest voice. So small and light Tharn could barely catch it. But he did. And he’s a monster if he tells him no. So he gives his hand to him and watches as Type slips his smaller, but rougher ones between his fingers.

Ignoring the pounding of his heart, Tharn uses his free hand to get the yellow tipped cotton and slowly and gently down against the cut on the leg.

Type’s holding his hand the entire time, squeezing it from time to time. He does that until Tharn’ finished putting it on all his cuts.

“I’m going to treat this one now, okay?” Tharn says softly, gesturing to the big one on the stomach. Type nods, letting go of his hand and shifts, so that Tharn’s seated between his legs.

Tharn grimaces when he sees it. It’s big and probably deeper than the rest, with dried blood clumping by the sides.

“Who did this to you?” He asks.

Type shrugs, “The same gang.”

“They found you?”

“My classmate rat me out.”

Tharn frowns, “Why would he do that?”

“Maybe because I punched his face.”

“Oh.”

“Ow,” Type hisses, when Tharn presses the cotton on it.

“Sorry,” Tharn mutters, “You can hold my arm if you want.”

It just slipped out, but Type nods and does it and Tharn has to restrain himself from sliding his gaze to the tanned hand clutching his veiny arm tightly.

He gently presses again, halting when Type hisses and squeezes his arm.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing and get it over with.”

Tharn gulps, nodding and presses the cotton down completely. The cut turns yellowish due to the ointment and when it’s fully covered he pulls his hand back. Seeing how Type’s unwilling to let his arm go anytime soon, he uses his free hand to take the bandages from the table.

He really should go grocery shopping for bandages tomorrow.

“Done?”

“Yeah. But your face is still...” Tharn bites his lip.

“You don’t have to treat everything.”

“Of course I have to,” Tharn cuts him before he says anything else, “Hold on.”

He takes ice and wraps it around with a clean cloth.

When he’s seated right in front Type, scooting closer and putting his left hand on his shoulder while his right holds the cloth, he asks, “How many punches did you take?”

“Don’t know,” Type huffs, flinching slightly when the cold surface hits him. “Didn’t really thought to count when you’re getting fucked up.”

“At least 10?”

“Probab- _ow_!” He pulls away, pouting as Tharn gives him a look.

“What?”

“It hurts.”

“Well, it’s not supposed to feel good.”

Type sighs, pushing his lips out, then he leans back in. “Hurry then.”

“Bossy.” But Tharn continues.

“Shut up.”

Tharn presses more, chuckling when Type whines and shoves him on the shoulder lightly.

“Okay, I’m done,” he says, placing the cloth on the table and then turning back towards Type, about to make a comment on how Type can stop whining about the pain when Type leans in, a hand going up to Tharn’s cheek and presses their lips together.

He’s too shocked to move, his mind still processing _what the fuck is happening_. Type kisses him like no other has; soft yet hot and breathy, not trying to win a battle but seeking closeness. The heat rises to Tharn’s cheeks as the hand on his cheek slides further to the back of his neck, gripping on his hair.

Type’s closing his eyes, brows furrowed like he’s trying to put all his emotions into the kiss and quickly, Tharn feels his eyelids dropping, body finally responding to the kiss and his hands are lifted and slides themselves up to cup Type’s neck and pull him closer.

Type’s lips are chapped and he can taste the metallic tang of blood but he doesn’t care because all he can focus on is the liquid warmth that is quickly spreading through his body as he narrows the universe on the feeling of Type’s soft lips against his.

This wasn’t what Tharn expected when he arrived home but he’s not complaining. And it’s kind of crazy. His mind is dizzy and he feels so warm and giddy all over, it kind of terrifies him.

He lets out his tongue and experimentally licks Type’s lower lip.

Type pulls away, eyes glassy and lips puffy and red. Tharn’s no better than him, he can feel his chest going up and down as he catches his breath. He looks at Type in concern and apology, thinking he was so forward it probably scared Type.

“Sorry,” Type mumbles, “my cut hurts.”

Tharn blinks, now realizing his lips are bloody, the cut probably opened by their kiss.

“ _Oh my god_ , hold on,” he laughs, taking the rag and wiping the blood that’s smeared to the sides of his plump lips. It takes all his will power not to press their lips together again.

“You kissed me really hard.”

“Me?” Tharn chuckles, “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“I did, didn’t I? Sorry, can’t help myself.”

Type grins at him, a bit shy and Tharn feels his heart just expand and expand and explode right there and then.

“Come on,” Tharn takes Type’s arm and puts it around his shoulder gently, knowing the bruises and cuts on it. He lifts them both up and goes inside his bedroom, placing Type on the bed.

He goes to take a new shirt, towel and a pair of shorts for Type.

“I still have yours back at my place.”

“Hm?”

“Your shirt.”

Tharn smirks, “You can keep it.”

Type shrugs, falling on the bed and sighing, “Wasn’t planning on giving it back.”

Tharn laughs softly, shaking his head as he hands Type his clothes, who’s still closing his eyes and unmoving.

He sighs, “You’re going to make me dress you up, are you?”

Type doesn’t say a word, but the slight twitch on his lips gives Tharn the answer he needs.

It’s quiet. They’re both quiet. Only the slight rustling of the clothes as Tharn dresses him. His heart is still beating like crazy and it really feels unreal, that Type’s back in his bed, snuggling his pillow with puffy, red lips that Tharn’s kissed.

_That Tharn’s kissed._

He smiles.

“Done,” he says, pressing a small kiss on Type’s hand and goes on to turn off the lights before slipping inside the covers with him.

They’re facing each other. In the dim light, Type’s light honeyed brown skin seem to look softer. His lips, always so full in pulled into a small pout and Tharn almost feels his heart breaking away from the barrier of his lungs and fly away when he lets his gaze rise to his eyes.

He’s staring at him so intently. His dark eyes appear even darker right now. Everytime Type stares at him, he feels like his soul is slowly disappearing, inching away from his body.

“What do you study?” Type whispers to him.

“Engineering.”

“Smartass.”

Tharn smiles. “You?”

“Communications.”

“You?” Tharn huffs out a soft laugh, “You in communications?”

Tharn expects Type to stick his tongue out and sock him in his face or something. But the boy giggles softly, shrugging his shoulders cutely.

God, is he dreaming right now?

Type smiles again, which Tharn promises to himsef to always cherish it. It’s the soft one. The one he gave to Tharn the night before when he thanked him. He wants to kiss him. He really does. Will Type allow him? Will he run away like last time again? 

“Can I kiss you?”

Tharn blinks, heat spreading across his cheeks when he realizes he’s said it out loud.

“You’re asking me for permission?”

“Yes.”

Type grins, eyes crinkling shut as his button nose scrunches up. It’s honestly the prettiest thing Tharn’s ever witnesses in his entire life.

“Go ahead.”

So Tharn does. He graps Type’s right cheek with his hand and pulls them close.   
  


” _Ow_ , _fuck_ , you touched my wound, _asshole_.”   
  


“Fuck, sorry sorry sorry-“

**Author's Note:**

> so???? good??? bad???? mediocre??? should i make an extra smut chapter for this? let me know what you think and follow me on twitter: wonuwuh 💖 thank you luvs u lots bye


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